


Storms of Autumn

by DoctorsHeart



Category: Black Sails
Genre: I Don't Even Know, I want Flint to be happy, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 12:28:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8162066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorsHeart/pseuds/DoctorsHeart
Summary: Flint needs to let go of his past to face his future but he will not be capable of doing so by himself





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was a prompt for a friend to the topic 'Autumn' (I know it doesn't really have anything to do with autumn except for the fact that it's a rainy day). Don't worry, it's not sad (at least not as sad as it could have been).  
> I am not a native speaker and I apologize for any mistakes made - if you find any errors, please let me know so I can fix them!

Heavy raindrops broke through the sound of their laughter, colliding with the windows and walls like arrows of water, forming a rhythmic melody of easy comfort. When lightning broke the sky its sharp flash of white light reflected in the glasses of Brandy upon the desk.  
“No, this is impossible! You got this all wrong!”  
Papers were scattered across the wooden surface of the desk but the work was long forgotten. James McGraw smiled against the rim of his glass, eyes following his royal company while the man slowly paced up and down the room. Lord Thomas Hamilton was no Lord tonight, he was merely a man in a vest that he hadn’t bothered to button up properly and a faint blush upon pale cheeks, quite certainly the result of having a glass too much, discussing the moral of a novel.  
“Wrong? I beg to differ; there cannot be a ‘wrong’ or ‘right’ when it comes to one’s perception of what another has committed to paper.”  
James placed his glass back upon the desk, looking up to meet Thomas’ blue eyes, shiny in the candlelight. The young Lord shook his head, not yet having given up their little argument – he would certainly pick it up again at a later point – but letting the topic rest for now.  
It was late, the night pitch black, only lit by occasional lightning breaking through the clouds. Thomas stopped his restless pacing at the window. James could spot the man’s reflection upon the glass; saw the lost expression in bright eyes.  
The silence between them was a peaceful and familiar one. It felt right in the way it settled between them, without doubt or expectation. James could not pinpoint the exact moment this familiarity had been created but looking back now, it seemed as if it had always been there.  
Thomas moved, turned to look at the lieutenant and James knew him well enough to read the expression in his eyes. Lord Hamilton had yet another idea.  
“Will you accompany me?”  
He offered his hand and James could see no possible way of saying ‘no’ to this man. He took the offered hand and allowed Thomas to pull him to his feet. They left the desk and papers behind, forgot about the definitely expensive Brandy in their glasses, and left the room. In the hallway the sound of the rain was distant, like the memory of a dream. Only few candles were lit and in the dim light they moved past closed doors and beautiful paintings, their fingers intertwined in the safety of the dark. The house was asleep, no sound and no movement to prove the existence of another being in this building.  
Thomas lead the way, down the stairs and through the main hall, steps echoing softly back from silent walls. The way was familiar to McGraw but it was already too late to convince the young Lord to return to the study.  
“Thomas, I don’t think-“  
But of course Thomas would not listen. He pushed open the glass doors which led into the garden and the silence was swept away by the roaring of the wind. The rain was heavy and violent, lightning like a soldier’s blade cutting through the dark. James hesitated, Thomas’s fingers slipped out from between his own and he watched the young Lord step into the storm, a wide smile on his lips, head tilted towards the sky.  
McGraw silently shook his head, pondering over whether he should follow the other or urge him to come inside, instead. Someone might see them, someone might come looking for them. And how would they explain the soaked clothes, should someone ask about them?  
But then Thomas offered his hand again, water dripping from his fingers and short hair, running down his neck. And James followed.  
He was soaked the very second he stepped beneath the open sky. The rain was cold and relentless, making him shiver. There was no escaping the storm that was raging above their heads. This was a terrible idea, what if Thomas would get sick? But his concerns seemed unimportant the moment he looked up to see the smile on his Lord’s face, the shiny eyes alive and childishly excited. It was infectious. The energy of the storm, Thomas’s ardor.  
James took the man’s hand, their fingers cold already, and allowed the other to softly tug him closer. They looked at each other for a moment and when the next lightning broke the darkness with a roar, their lips met.  
It was cold and they were soaked to the bone, water dripping from clothes and skin, lose strands of hair sticking to cheeks and forehead but James wouldn’t have traded this moment for anything in the world.  
They kissed until they ran out of breath, and even then they couldn’t part. Lips lingering, tracing skin, and smiling into the raging waters of the sky. In the darkness of the night they felt save, tucked away from the rest of the world, living in their own little space. Dirty and dripping wet, freezing but refusing to return to the warmth of the house.  
Not yet. They’d savor this moment; make it last for as long as they could.

 

Flint blinked into the dim lit room that was his quarters. The rain was growing stronger, like cannonballs the drops collided with the wooden ship, a crescendo of nature’s forces.  
But inside it was still warm, the cold winds hadn’t yet crept through the door and windows, hadn’t yet blown out the candles upon his desk. The Walrus was swaying to the rhythm of the waves; soon she’d be victim to the angry sea, send men slithering across deck. The captain traced the cover of the book in front of him, he caressed the dark leather and memorized its pattern. The men had gone below deck to escape the rain, they could rest for now. Soon he’d have to call for them and send them into yet another war against the weather.  
Flint pushed back his chair, the sound of his boots swallowed by the howling of the wind as he moved across the silent, empty room. This time he did not hesitate, his fingers closed around the door handle with almost urgent determination and he pushed the door open to allow the cold winds inside.  
He stepped out onto the weather deck, rain coming down and soaking his clothes, dripping down the leather of his coat. Reaching the main mast, he stopped and closed his eyes, turning his face towards the darker growing skies. He listened. The wind, the waves, the rain hitting wooden deck… it was as if they all kept a secret from him and he’d only have to listen closely to grasp its hidden meaning.  
He got lost in his own thoughts, the water cooling his skin, soaking his hair and clothes, the wind tugging at his coat but it was unimportant. Flint wasn’t there. Not on this ship, not in this storm. He was somewhere else, many miles and many years away.  
In the silent space he had created for himself upon the rain-stained deck, he was not aware of the eyes watching him from a distance. Dark curls framing gray-blue irises, concern and affection safely hidden away beneath a layer of smartly placed lies and perfected stories.  
And the longer those bright eyes watched the captain, the harder it was to escape the impact of the sharp mind behind those eyes. Sooner or later Captain Flint would have to leave his silent space, he would turn and look at the man who was friend and enemy alike. And he would have to face the truth which he had so successfully ignored – that reality was catching up with him and it would find him and hold him; it would hold him close and its embrace would be warmer than anticipated, its arms would bring peace, not woe.  
And this reality would come in the form of John Silver.


End file.
